


don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me

by nervousbakedown



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: Crossdressing, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 16:58:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14382993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nervousbakedown/pseuds/nervousbakedown
Summary: The Tommy that dresses feminine resides there, in the social media ether, and regularly gets likes upon likes and comments about how hot he looks in his pics.





	don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me

Tommy stands in front of his dresser on a Friday evening. He looks down into the drawer that is currently open with his hands on his hips. In the dresser are various crop tops — sweatshirts, tank tops, random blouses in pastel shades of pink, purple, blue. Some grey and black. _What goes best with lighter denim?_ , Tommy asks himself.

He decides on a grey crew sweatshirt that rests an inch and a half or so above his belly button. He likes this one because the arms are roomy and comfortable, but it’s tight enough around the torso to show off everything he wants to show off, his chest and shoulders. Most important, the dark grey will go best with the light distressed denim short-shorts he already has on. 

Tommy smiles to himself and takes the sweatshirt out of the drawer, unfolds it, puts it over his head. His hair gets rumpled up, but that’s okay. He’ll have a wig on soon.

The next part of his routine, however, is makeup. Tommy goes into the en suite bathroom and gets his makeup bag out of the drawer to the left of the sink. Today, he feels like doing the “no makeup” makeup look — a light foundation, some blush, mascara. He’ll curl his eyelashes too. That always seems to work well for him; he hasn’t yet been able to find falsies that don't look ridiculous. 

It’s awfully quiet in the room, so Tommy decides to get out his phone and put some music on. He stands and scrolls through his music, his hip cocked to the side, resting most of his weight on one leg.

While he’s deciding on what to listen to, he gets some notifications from his alternate Instagram account. The Tommy that dresses feminine resides there, in the social media ether, and regularly gets likes upon likes and comments about how hot he looks in his pics. He laughs under his breath as he reads the notification banner. This comment must be from his most recent pic, a side-profile selfie in a tight black dress, because it is simply three peach emojis. 

Tommy clears his notifications and gets back to browsing his music. He eventually decides on listening to Chance the Rapper’s _Coloring Book_ for the hundredth time. He hums to himself as he pats foundation and blush on, whispers the lyrics to “All Night.”

“I don't trust no one faking like a fan, asking for a pic…” Tommy whispers the rap to himself, matching Chance’s intonation. 

He hums along to the song “No Problem” as he uses the eyelash curler and then applies mascara. Tommy sticks his tongue out in concentration, watching his normally blonde eyelashes become black. He leans over the counter a bit to see clearer. The last thing he wants is clumping.

Makeup done, Tommy puts some pink-tinted lip balm on before putting everything away, back in the bag and into the drawer. He opens the drawer below, and takes out his wig. 

The wig is blonde, thick and full, loose curls elegantly shaking out as Tommy picks it up. He has it styled into a half-ponytail — his favorite style. His natural hair is short enough that he just pins it back with a few bobby pins before applying adhesive around his hairline. Tommy puts the wig on, makes sure it looks good and the hairline looks natural. He runs his hands through his hair, finds it isn’t tangled. Tommy pulls the long blonde waves forward so they fall over his shoulders, about a quarter of the way down his chest. He smooths down his hair some more with his hands to tame a few flyaway strands.

Tommy smiles and steps back a bit so he can see more of himself in the mirror. He’s really happy with how everything turned out. He opens the camera on his phone and takes selfies in the mirror — a few smiling, a few pouty faces, a few where he twirls a finger in his hair. His stomach and thighs are awfully pale in the harsh bathroom light, which isn’t the most desirable look, but _what can you do_ , Tommy thinks.

That’s why he usually takes pictures in the wall mirror out in his bedroom.

But in order to do that, he needs to pick out some shoes. 

Tommy goes back to the bedroom and opens his closet. He contemplates sneakers for a moment before realizing that, _nope_ , he’s in the mood for heels. But which heels? He’s not leaving the house, so practicality doesn’t have to be taken into consideration. He eyes the pair of black strappy sandals he bought on clearance, then the hot pink pumps one of his online admirers sent him.

“No,” Tommy says out loud to the pumps. “Definitely not.”

After taking a step closer and moving some shoes aside, Tommy notices a brown pair of shoes at the back. He takes them off the shelf, and quickly realizes what they are — the over-the-knee tan boots. He’s only wore these once, because it’s so hard to find something that goes with them. The boots lace all the way up at the back, are a light tan, faux-suede material with a thick, 4-inch heel. With one boot in each hand, Tommy steps in front of the long wall mirror. The tan boots match the light denim and the dark grey sweatshirt. Tommy smirks, satisfied, as if he solved a puzzle. He then walks over to sit on the edge of his bed and put the boots on.

As he puts them on, Tommy almost laments having shaved his legs, given how much of his leg they cover. Once he gets both boots on — nice and secure, thin laces fastened — he goes back and stands in front of the mirror. His thighs look _great_ , and he decides he’s glad he shaved. 

Tommy feels confident, positively elated at how well this outfit came together. He brings out his phone for round two of selfies in the mirror — full body, trying out evocative and teasing poses. He bites on his thumbnail, then puts his hand on one hip, then puts his hand in his full blonde hair. After a while, flexing his abdominal muscles and cocking his hip to the side becomes tiring. He stands idly, looking through the dozen or so pictures on his camera roll. 

In his peripheral, Tommy sees the setting sun out the window. The West Hollywood night looks nice. Perfect, really. Having paused his music, Tommy hears car horns, sirens, people shouting. All the sounds of Friday night. 

Tommy stands, his wrist limp as he holds his phone, and thinks. He told himself he wasn’t going anywhere because he never leaves the house dressed up. He’s never been out in public in a wig or heels, never walked down the sidewalk wearing makeup or dressed in a crop top. This part of himself is only public on Instagram, under the irony of being hidden in plain sight, easily discoverable to strangers yet totally secret to people he knows. And that satisfies him, it does. Usually.

Looking out at the evening light, Tommy feels like taking a walk. He wants to know what it’s like to go somewhere in these heels, to actually _exist_ wearing these kinds of clothes, to actually be feminine. After all, this ended up being one of the best outfits he’s come up with. He wants to be seen by more people than the horny guys in his Instagram DMs. He wants to be _seen_ , period.

Tommy takes a deep breath, shoulders rising up and down. He feels the thrum of both anxiety and excitement in the pit of his stomach as he finally makes up his mind. 

He grabs his keys and sunglasses off of his dresser.

Tommy then puts the aviator shades on, gives himself one last glance in the mirror, and heads out of the house.

**Author's Note:**

> (the visual basis for tommy's outfit if you're so inclined to know: http://s3cdn-test-lookbooknu.netdna-ssl.com/files/looks/medium/2016/05/24/4929172_shorts.jpg?1464101695 )


End file.
